(3rd Person's POV)
Thirteen years of relentless toil, thirteen years of sweat and steel, and finally, Morgan Pendragon had done it. She'd united the fractured shards of Britain under her banner, not just slaying the seemingly invincible Vortigern, but driving away the gnawing wolves of invasion and ushering in an era of peace that hadn't graced the land in centuries.
Whispers danced across the continent, painting Morgan as a formidable figure – a woman who'd wrestled a nation into unity with her bare hands. Rumors swirled thicker than the stews in Camelot's kitchens, some claiming she had forged ironclad treaties with the Roman Empire, establishing trade ties with a behemoth of an empire.
Few knew the truth behind both rumors. Few knew the silent hand that had subtly guided the course of nations, the mind that had strategized alliances and brokered deals. And only Morgan knew that it belonged to a single soul – her husband.
'Sigh~, if only milord was able to come forward…' she sighed, swirling the ruby liquid in her goblet. The ache in her chest was a familiar companion, the yearning to share this triumph with her love a constant tug-of-war. He, the King of Orkney, the man who had stood by her side through fire and frost, steadfastly refused to bask in the reflected glory.
The grand hall of Camelot, built with the calloused hands of a united people, thrummed with the joyous cacophony of celebration. Lords from every corner of Britain, their faces etched with respect and awe, had come to pledge their fealty to the woman who had stitched their fractured land back together. Wealthy merchants, their purses fat with the spoils of newfound peace, mingled with Morgan's knights, their armor gleaming like polished moonlight. Sir Kay, her gruff but loyal confidante, boomed laughter across the hall, the sound a balm to her soul.
Everything shimmered with the realization of a dream. The Britain she had envisioned, a nation united and at peace, stretched before her like a verdant tapestry. The whispers of admiration, the awestruck gazes, the unwavering loyalty – they were all hers, the fruits of her toil.
Even in a world where women were often relegated to the shadows, she, Morgan Pendragon, had carved her own path, forged her own destiny, and earned the respect of men and women alike.
Yet, as she sat on the throne, a solitary figure in a sea of revelry, a cold emptiness gnawed at her heart. The cheers, the gilded plates, the clinking goblets – they all felt hollow without the warmth of his hand in hers, without the glint of pride in his eyes. The dream was complete, but the picture was incomplete, the canvas painted in shades of yearning. For all the glory she basked in, what she truly craved was the simple joy of sharing it with the man who had walked beside her through every storm, the man who was her king, her husband, her love – King Lot of Orkney.
"Well met, good folk!" boomed a voice that seemed to emanate from the depths of his belly. "My, what a feast for the eyes and the stomach! Such beauty and bounty – fit for a queen!"
The air crackled with barely concealed whispers as a portly figure lumbered into the grand hall. His face, obscured by a luxuriant hedge of hair, exuded a jovial air that clashed with the disapproving murmurs rippling through the crowd. Two young women, their faces etched with amusement and joy, clung to his arms like delicate vines.
His jovial pronouncement sparked a fresh flurry of hushed exchanges.
"Queen Morgan's husband, isn't he?" a voice hissed. "A lecherous old goat, that's what he is."
"Drains her coffers and doesn't even offer a modicum of respect."
"And those women! Shameless hussies, shamelessly flaunting themselves in the queen's own court."
"Waste of a beautiful queen."
"Lucky to snag such a beauty."
Morgan, seated on her throne, felt her blood simmer. Ugly? King Lot, in her eyes, possessed the rugged charm of a sun-kissed mountain, his laughter the rumble of a summer storm. Leech? If anything, it was her kingdom that had relied heavily on his resources during the war. Respect? She, of all people, knew the depth of his unspoken devotion. And those women? Artoria and Melusine, mere children compared to him, were more like playful pups than romantic conquests.
Yet, denying these whispers felt pointless. King Lot, in his own bumbling way, thrived on this persona. He was, she knew, oblivious to the undercurrents of disapproval that swirled around him. And so, she swallowed her anger, the bitter brew mingling with the rich wine in her goblet.
For now, she would play the queen, a gracious figure above the fray. But within, a storm brewed, waiting for the right moment to break.
"This is absurd!" A voice suddenly cut through the crowd, drawing attention to a distinguished figure. He stood tall, exuding both majesty and elegance, yet a hint of malevolence lingered in his demeanor.
Morgan recognized him as the lord and major trader from one of Britain's largest regions, a figure who had supplied funds for the wars. Little did anyone else know that the so-called funds were insignificant compared to the fortune granted by her husband.
His name was Moran.
"Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but why are you still tethered to this swine?" Moran's voice carried, resonating through the gathering.
"What did you say?" Morgan was taken aback. The insult directed at her husband left Morgan speechless. While rumors and murmurs were commonplace, this was the first direct attack on her beloved's character.
"You heard correctly, Your Majesty!" Moran pressed on. "You're a remarkable ruler, a unifier of Britain, a hero among heroes, and a legend among legends. Yet, I fail to comprehend why you remain associated with such a despicable individual. He'll tarnish your reputation, a stain on your royal legacy!"
Morgan was rendered momentarily speechless, her mind grappling with the audacity of someone insulting her beloved husband. Anger surged within her, and in that moment, something snapped.
"And thus, as the lord of Gloucester, I present myself as your promised husb—"
"Enough!" Morgan's voice thundered through the hall, her fury palpable as she rose with resolute determination, slamming her foot down with authoritative force.
A powerful aura surged forth, creating a palpable tremor in the hall. Kneeling became an involuntary response for most, weaker-willed individuals already succumbing to her commanding presence.
Yet, this marked the first time in a decade when every onlooker bore witness to the formidable might of Morgan—the dictating queen who had successfully unified all of Britain.
With a mere gesture from Morgan, the knights swiftly moved to apprehend Moran.
"Your majesty, what's the meaning…" Moran began, bewildered by the sudden turn of events.
Ignoring the commotion around her, Morgan marched off the platform toward her husband. Gripping King Lot's hand firmly, she dragged him back onto the stage.
"Hear me, all who are present!" Morgan's voice rang out, commanding everyone's attention. "This is King Lot of Orkney, my husband, with whom I have been joined in marriage for 13 years."
A murmur rippled through the crowd as confusion spread regarding Morgan's actions.
"Allow me to offer another introduction for King Lot. This is my husband, the man I hold in the highest regard in this entire world," she proclaimed, surprising everyone, including King Lot himself. It was a rare display of romantic affection from Queen Morgan, and astonishingly, her prince charming was none other than her husband.
"Once, I expressed my selfish desire to unite this country, and my husband became my foremost supporter. He not only guided me in cavalry tactics but also provided funds for my cause. He presented himself this way because he wanted me to always shine brightly. Such a person is my true husband, the sole individual I love," Morgan declared firmly, fixing her gaze on Moran.
She wanted to slice him into pieces but she didn't want to ruin the mood than Moran already had.
"You wretched scoundrel, how dare you insult my beloved husband?!" Morgan's anger blazed, her presence so intense that Moran immediately faltered, betraying his fear. "Knights! Administer 50 lashes and cast him to the wild dogs for their repast!"
Shocked and desperate, Moran protested, "Your majesty! You can't do this to me! I am your supporter and a lord! What kind of king are you if you cannot even see your people equally?!"
Morgan clicked her tongue, a sly smirk playing on her lips. "And what manner of king would I be if I cannot defend the honor of my family, let alone my nation?"
The statement reverberated through the hall, leaving everyone stunned.
Indeed, whether a king, emperor, or lord, they were, in the end, human. If they couldn't defend the pride of their family, how could they be expected to safeguard the sovereignty of their country? In that moment, the people felt a surge of pride for their ruler, and their respect for Queen Morgan reached new heights.
"Your majesty! I was wrong! Have mercy!!" Moran cried and begged, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as he was forcibly dragged away.
"Hear my proclamation. Should I catch anyone uttering ill of any member of my family henceforth, I shall consign you to the flames or mete out an even more severe punishment that seven generations to come will shudder in fear! I hold deep affection for my husband and accord him respect irrespective of my standing. Therefore, extend to him the same respect you afford me."
"HAI!" instinctively, everyone in the hall spoke in affirmation.
"Milord I— eh?" Morgan turned around towards King Lot but found him in tears.
---
The late afternoon sun bled into a fiery orange as I pushed open the bedroom door. There stood Morgan, silhouetted against the windowpane, her back a slender sculpture against the dying light. Her long, dark hair, usually tamed in a braid, danced wildly in the chill wind, weaving a web of midnight against the gold. Even in the fading glow, her blue eyes shimmered like sapphires kissed by moonlight, and her skin held a luminescence that rivaled the finest alabaster. In that moment, Morgan Pendragon was a vision that left me speechless.
She whirled around, sensing my presence, her head bowed in a gesture that spoke volumes of her turmoil. "Milord," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper against the sighing wind, "I beg your forgiveness. I have failed you. I have revealed your secret."
"Why do you apologize, Morgan Pendragon?" I asked, my voice a gentle counterpoint to the rustling wind outside.
She lifted her head, eyes wide and filled with a torrent of emotions. "I… I betrayed your trust. You entrusted me with your greatest secret, and I… I couldn't bear to see you hurt."
A smile tugged at my lips, a warm spark against the chill of the evening. "Morgan," I said, taking a step towards her, "look at me."
Her gaze met mine, hesitant at first, then blooming with surprise as she saw the genuine amusement dancing in my eyes. "Morgan," I repeated, my voice softer now, "it is true I wished for my identity to remain hidden, but today, you proved something far more important than any royal decree." I paused, letting my words sink in. "You proved what it truly means to be a king."
She frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "But… how?"
"By being human first," I said, my voice filled with conviction. "By putting your heart before your crown, your love for your family above the cold calculations of power. How can a king protect his kingdom if he cannot first protect those closest to him?"
My words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wind's whispers. Morgan stared at me, her expression a kaleidoscope of emotions. Then, a blush bloomed on her cheeks, painting them with the soft hues of a summer sunset. "Then I…" she stammered, her voice barely a breath.
"Yes, Morgan Pendragon," I interrupted, my smile widening. "A king must first be king of his family before he can be king of his country. And by defending me tonight, you passed the final test." With those words, I unbuttoned my shirt.
"Then I, Morgan Pendragon…" she declared with rosy cheeks, removing her gown and undergarments, standing naked, "Order you to impregnate me with an heir."
Gently cupping her cheeks, I guided her to the bed, our lips staying intertwined. The kiss continued as we settled onto the soft surface, a seamless flow of connection.
What ensued were cries and moans of endless pleasure.
---
Returning to the bedroom, I found Morgan tidying up the bedsheets. She seemed to forget my desire for a few more rounds, but I figured she could use some rest.
"Drink this," I offered her a blend of fruit juice.
"Bleh, bitter!" Morgan grimaced. Even the high and mighty queen had her picky side, a trait shared by both Morgan and Artoria.
"It will give you neu—"
"Yes, I know…" Morgan sighed, downing the juice in one go.
Afterward, we both lay in bed, Morgan nestled on my arm. In the quiet, we simply savored the tranquility.
"Milord... you know, I always wanted to unite my Britain, to create a paradise free from war or evil. A place where only happiness and smiles flourish. I despised the Saxons, yet I wished to welcome them to my palace with a smile, 'Welcome to fair Britain'," Morgan confessed.
Her words struck a chord within me. Morgan Pendragon, or as some might know her, Morgan Le Fae, was portrayed as a witch in Arthurian legend, an antagonist who attempted to destroy King Arthur. But beyond that, she was simply a person molded by fate and circumstance. The world dictated her path, shaping Morgan Pendragon into Morgan Le Fae, and erasing all traces of Britain from the map.
And so, I felt a surge of pride in having altered the course of her fate. I had granted her the kingship she longed for. Though she ruled with a hint of ruthlessness and strictness, she was loved and respected by all.
She wasn't the perfect ideal of a king that people often dreamed of. Instead, she became the best ruler that her people needed. And I couldn't have been prouder to have mentored and guided her along that path.
"It's all thanks to Milord."
"No, Morgan, it's…" I began, but she interrupted me, rising and sitting on top of me.
"No, Milord. I may appear at the forefront, but I understand that who I am is because of you." Her gaze lowered. "I lack the foresight of Merlin, yet I sense that without you, I might have become more hideous and malevolent. Therefore, I, Morgan of Avalon, extend my heartfelt gratitude to Lot of Orkney."
Moved, I rose to meet her eyes, tears streaming down uncontrollably. "Milord, why the sudden tears?" Morgan grew concerned.
"Morgan, I…" I struggled, "Morgan, you shouldn't thank me. I am a sinner, evil. I wanted to love you, but I…"
I was deceiving her, a liar undeserving of trust. But just as I struggled with my confession, I felt Morgan's strong yet tender palm against my face.
"Milord, I understand that you harbor many secrets, but that's acceptable. If there's one thing I'm devoted to, it's loving you unconditionally. I've felt the sincerity of your love, and it's no deception. Even in the face of any lies, as long as you maintain this commitment and love, I'll steadfastly remain by your side."
Her words brought relief. She was a strong woman, capable of enduring hardships and seeing things through.
But then, Morgan's cheeks turned rosy, and I realized she was getting embarrassed. A bit belatedly, I realized my Stand had lifted her.
"Mi-Milord… if you wish, I can go a few more rounds."
"Why, of course, my fair lady~," I grinned, placing her on top of my Stand.
"Ah!" Morgan moaned and then shook her head helplessly. "Oh well, I suppose this queen could indulge in a little play for a while."
With those words, we sealed each other's lips, and our night ended peacefully.
.
.
.
At least, that's what I thought. The next day, a grand prayer was held for Queen Morgan as she fell sick for some reason.
===
There is a R18 version on my paywall. Now before you started fapping with anger, it is free. I just dont upload here because its cringy. Besides, R18 has few sex scenes only and couldn't even be called proper meat slapping material. Anyway, here is the link:
www.patr eon.com/J_Titan